


as the master sleeps

by draculard



Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Master/Servant, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Oral Sex, Scent Kink, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: It is one of Rukh's many duties to guard Thrawn's bedroom door.
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon/Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo (implied), Rukh/Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	as the master sleeps

There was one hour each night — only one — where the fragile half-alert rest of the Grand Admiral gave way to deep sleep. It was during this hour that his sleep became almost unbreakable, a fact Rukh knew from long experience, from years of personally guarding the master as he slept. A chime at the door would not wake him; his own comlink, no matter how closely he placed it to his head at night, would not make his eyelids flicker even if Rukh let it blink and beep until the hour was up. 

The rest of the night, the Grand Admiral could be roused by the slightest noise. A puff of gas from the ship’s thrusters was all it took to make him raise his eyelids to half-mast and take a sleep-dazed stock of his quarters. Any minute shift in vibrations were felt through the deck and, if they didn’t always wake him, they at least always caused him to stir, sometimes drawing the blankets over his head with the faintest groan, other times only blinking at the ceiling or breathing deeply through his nose. 

He could sense Rukh’s presence and preferred him close, an arrangement which suited Rukh just fine. Their positions had become habit years before and now neither ever thought of breaking them; Rukh sat on the edge of Thrawn’s bed with his back against the headboard and his body turned to face the door. His left leg rested on the mattress, and invariably, Thrawn fell asleep with Rukh’s leg lightly touching his shoulder, a point of contact so impersonal that it could scarcely be called a touch. 

If Rukh tensed even slightly, Thrawn noticed it and sometimes turned toward him by half-awake instinct, muttering words to himself that Rukh would probably never understand. His nose brushed Rukh’s thigh; his breath warmed Rukh’s skin as he drifted back to sleep and grew limp again, if only for a while; he never translated his sleep-talk in the morning, but then again, Rukh was never impertinent enough to ask.

He learned how to recognize when Thrawn was dreaming. He learned how to recognize when those dreams became nightmares or shifted into something sweeter. He learned to control his temper when he heard Gilad Pellaeon’s name come from sleeping lips. 

A man couldn’t be blamed for what he did while sleeping, Rukh knew. Everyone loosened in sleep, becoming the most animalistic versions of themselves. Their scents shifted — Thrawn’s included — into something primal and heat-generated and often aroused. He couldn’t be blamed for the occasional unguarded sigh; he couldn’t be blamed for muttering or occasionally snoring (nor could he be stopped, nor could he be convinced he ever snored at all). 

In his sleep, like any other man, Thrawn tossed and turned, first curling on his side and then stretching out limply on his back. His undershirt, when he didn’t bother to undress all the way, rode up on his ribs and he laid his hand flat against his bare stomach — a position he and Rukh had once seen an enemy soldier sleeping in and which Thrawn referred to as "sleeping sloppy," not seeming to realize that he too sought the warmth of his own skin from time to time. He buried his face in Rukh’s thigh without realizing it, breathing in his scent the same way Rukh often breathed in Thrawn’s.

But these things, all of them, happened only before and after that single hour of deep sleep. During that hour, Thrawn didn’t toss or turn, and he suffered neither dreams nor nightmares. It was during this hour only that Rukh could shift on the bed without being heard.

He could lift the blanket if he wanted, take stock of the way Thrawn curled his arms protectively over his rib cage while he slept. He could touch him if he wanted, without worrying that Thrawn would wake — worrying not out of fear of his reaction, for Rukh knew his master didn’t mind, but out of concern for disturbing his sleep. 

He could rest his hands on Thrawn’s bare thighs, his temperature burning high or dipping low depending on how long he'd been asleep. He could observe Thrawn's nudity without being watched. He could tell by scent alone whether Thrawn was hard or soft beneath the sheets, but it mattered little, and he often peeled back the blanket to drink it in regardless. It was a sight worth seeing and a scent worth breathing either way, whether hard and proud and flushed, whether soft and vulnerable and unself-conscious all the same.

Thrawn’s sex was different from the Noghri, but not so different that Rukh didn’t know what to do. Even if he’d been lost, the minute changes in scent would have told him what Thrawn liked. He used the warmth of his tongue and breath more often than he used his callused hands; he was not, however, ignorant of the times when all Thrawn needed was the gentle stroke, the rough pad of Rukh’s thumb against the head of an already-hard and straining cock. The erections came and went during his lighter stages of sleep as well, sometimes fading naturally, other times dispatched during sleep-dazed trips to the fresher. If Thrawn was particularly tired — if he'd been nuzzling against Rukh's thigh while he slept — sometimes he palmed himself beneath the sheets without opening his eyes, letting release take over without ever ordering Rukh from the bed.

But during these precious sixty minutes, Thrawn had no say in the matter, and it was Rukh who ensured his master received what needed to be done.

At the crest of the hour, Rukh placed his palm against Thrawn’s cock, the fabric of underwear he’d been too tired to remove earlier now getting in the way. He pressed lightly, insistently, letting the fabric provide all the friction that was needed, letting his hand provide the pressure and nothing more. He watched Thrawn’s face, breathed deeply and evenly as the length of hardness beneath his hand grew sticky and warm. The scent of release rose thick as a cloud, and when Rukh lowered his head, pressed his nose against the wet fabric, closed his eyes, he knew no other Noghri would ever feel the satisfaction of true servitude as he did. 

There was no fanfare — no twitch of ecstasy, no change in Thrawn’s breathing pattern, no sighs or moans. No human name spilling from his lips.

In a few minutes, Thrawn’s sleep would ease and perhaps he would wake, and perhaps he would think he’d come without assistance as all men sometimes did while sleeping, and perhaps he would take one look at Rukh and know. It didn’t matter.

Rukh turned, ever the faithful bodyguard, and trained his eyes on the bedroom door.


End file.
